


Grow Fonder

by Thalius



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Smut, Homecoming, Post-Canon, Rare Assertive Din, Some Plot, its a fingerblasting fic folks what else can i say, its not like a big thing though, tagging all of this side by side feels wrong but its not related to the smut itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:31:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: It's been a very long four days.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Winta, Din Djarin/Omera, Omera & Winta
Comments: 6
Kudos: 107
Collections: The Mandalorian Ficathon — April 2020





	Grow Fonder

**Author's Note:**

> This is a nsfw prompt fill for Day 17 ("Quiet") of the #Mandothon2020 event on tumblr, which you can find [here](https://mandothon.tumblr.com/). At this point all the mandomera fics I write will be tangentially related to [BWSH](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611599/chapters/51533602) in some way, but it's definitely not required reading. Also I swear I have not abandoned that story, just taking a break to write some lighter stuff.

She knew immediately that Winta and Din had returned from their trip into town; Stoke gave a whoop of greeting, and she could hear Winta’s voice carry easily across the village as she answered his hail. When Omera looked down at Fuzzy—he was Fuzzy forever now, no matter how many times that Din insisted otherwise—the little boy’s ears perked up with a squeak.

“Your favourite person is back,” she whispered to him conspiratorially, and he answered her with another noise of excitement. She’d sat him down on the table while she worked to keep an eye on him, but he was clearly not content to sit there and wait any longer. Standing up in his confident, unhurried way, he waddled towards the step-stool she’d set out for him to climb down to the floor. Sure that he would be just fine to go find his way outside to Winta, she looked back to the boots laid out in front of her, smiling as she listened to the chatter of the villagers outside. She even picked up Din’s quiet, measured timbre amongst the noise, always somber and careful.

When she first let her daughter go into town on her own, Omera would worry every moment she was gone. They had been necessary growing pains, but she’d suffered heavily for the price of giving her daughter independence. And the moment Winta returned, Omera would always race out to greet her, ignoring her daughter’s repeated protests that she was a grown woman now and fully capable of selling their harvests to the proprietor without befalling some horrible fate. That she never doubted; it was everything else that worried her.

She’d eventually managed to overcome the urge to smother her daughter, and some small part of her knew Winta missed the coddling, even if she despised being treated so preciously. Now Omera stood at the table, continuing her work with ease, confident they would both seek her out when they needed to.

Sure enough, she heard telltale footfalls on the steps of the hut only a few minutes later, ones she immediately recognised as belonging to Winta. The girl poked her head in then, ducking around the curtain hanging by the entrance.

“Mama?”

Omera looked up from the table and smiled. “Hey baby.”

With a grin she stepped inside, her eyes falling to the boots in Omera’s hand. She had Fuzzy tucked into one of her arms, whose eyes were heavily lidded in satisfaction now that Winta was back. Some days she wondered if the boy missed her more than Omera did when she went into town.

Winta nodded to the boots. “They peel apart again?”

“It’s the heat,” she replied, shaking her head. “Dries out the treads. How was your trip?”

Winta shrugged and reached around her for the spice jars by the window, nudging one open with a knuckle and picking out a few dried mint leaves from it before popping one into her mouth. “Same old routine,” Winta said, leaning against the table beside her. She offered a sprig to Fuzzy, who ate it happily. “Darvish was in a good mood when we arrived, so she gave us a decent price for the haul.”

Omera nodded, and heard Winta reach into her pocket to jingle the credit pouch she’d received from the proprietor. Putting the glue brush back into the tin beside her, she looked up at her daughter and rolled her wrist around in the joint, flexing her fingers. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said, and then pulled her in for a hug.

Winta hummed in contentment. She smelled like mint and pine leaves—and sweat. It was unbearably hot outside. “Me too. I hate sleeping in the wagon.”

Omera laughed as she pulled away. “Be glad you’re doing it when you’re young.”

Winta made a dismissive  _ pfft _ noise, then looked to the door. “Speaking of,” she said, her brow pulling into a slight frown. “He should be around. Stoke was helping him unload the containers.”

“How was it?” Omera asked, and Winta looked back at her, caught by her serious tone. “Bringing Din with you this time?”

Winta shrugged again, giving her best attempt at nonchalance. “A lot better than bringing Caben or Stoke. He doesn’t chatter incessantly like they do.”

Omera smiled faintly. “An enduring good quality of his.” She hesitated then, wondering how to ask her next question. “But you—you got along okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Winta rocked the kid in her arms a couple times, making him look up at her. “He’s decent at bartering.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Winta’s mouth twisted, but there was humour in her eyes. “He’s not off the shitlist,” she replied then. “But we’re cool.”

Omera rolled her eyes to hide how pleased she was at her daughter’s words. “They’ve been back for over a year now,” she said, looking back down at Fuzzy. “I’m confident they won’t be leaving.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Winta said threateningly, though the good-natured expression on her face told Omera she wasn’t about to fight her mother on this topic right now. It was progress, and that was enough for her.

“Go on, then,” she said, nodding to the door. “Get cleaned up. I’ll make lunch soon.”

“Great, I’m starving,” Winta said before ducking out, Fuzzy still in hand, and hummed a tune as she headed for her own hut.

Omera just barely had enough time to turn back to the table and reach for the glue brush when she heard another set of footsteps in front of their home. The curtain parted softly and Din looked inside, his eyes immediately finding her.

Without looking up from the table she smiled as she saw him move towards her in his periphery. “How was town?” she asked in greeting, and felt one of his hands on her waist.

It circled around and pulled her close against him. She could feel the heat of his chest on her back, his clothes warm from being in the sun. His other hand went to her hair, sweeping it to the side so that he could press a kiss to the back of her neck. “Good,” he rumbled, his breath on her skin making her shiver. 

Her smile grew as he continued to kiss her, his arm around her waist jostling her until she was fitted neatly against him. The temperature difference between him and the mercifully cool cover of their home made another shiver run down her spine, and his arm tightened around her.

He pulled back the collar of her shirt as his mouth moved from her neck to her shoulder, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. “I missed you too,” she murmured, and felt his chest hum with agreement. When he tried to turn her around to kiss her properly, she grabbed his wrist to stop him and looked over her shoulder. He was so close that his nose brushed her temple at the movement. “But I have to finish this. The seal will be uneven if I stop in the middle of it.”

“Keep working then,” he whispered, and nudged her chin up to kiss the side of her throat. 

A laugh escaped her. “You’re awfully pushy.” She was surprised at how forward he was being—he usually restrained himself until dusk, when privacy could be guaranteed. He was clearly feeling the four days they’d been apart. Not that she was complaining.

“I missed you,” he replied simply, his words carrying their usual amount of gravity. 

“You’re too distracting,” she protested, though there was no force behind her words. When she leaned back into him, unable to help herself, he pressed his hips into her to tell her exactly how much he’d been missing her. Another tremor went through her.

Taking that as encouragement, his other hand went to the hem of her shirt and slid beneath it. His fingers were warm on her skin, and he found the swell of her breast easily. Omera gasped and gave a surreptitious glance at the door, very much aware that the only thing separating them from the rest of the village was a simple curtain. 

“Let’s go to the springs,” she said then, trying to hold onto her train of thought. He squeezed her breast as he pressed hot, open mouth kisses along her throat.

“Too far,” he replied, and bit down softly on her neck. This was more than a few racy kisses before lunch—he was clearly determined beyond simple teasing. And she very much wanted him to keep going.

“I have to….” She looked back down at the table, at her half-glued soles, and swallowed hard. “I have to finish this.”

“I won’t take long,” he told her, and the conviction in his tone made her focus fracture further.

Omera closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could feel him waiting, wanting for her reply. He was hard and insistent against her backside, his hands moving with purpose over her body, but he hadn’t reached down to her pants yet. 

The choice was incredibly easy. “Okay,” she whispered, and arched back into him.

The response was immediate. With a gasping moan he pressed her forward onto the table, curling over her as a hand went to her waistband and began tugging it down. She pressed her forehead into the table, breathing hard, her nose wrinkling at the acrid smell of glue. Her eyes darted to the entrance, watching the curtain, listening for any sign of someone approaching. 

“Be quick,” she breathed, gripping the edge of the table. He had her pants down around the tops of her thighs already, and she could feel the warm press of his clothes on her bare skin now. 

“I thought about you every night,” he whispered into her neck, his breathing already so harsh it made it difficult to hear out of her right ear. “Sleeping in that shitty wagon.”

She shuddered at the laboured sound of his voice even as she let out a breathless laugh. It quickly dissolved into a moan when his fingers swept between her legs. His other hand retracted from her breast and went to her mouth, and she bit into the meat of his index finger.

“Quiet,” he rasped. She nodded, shuddering again, and he slipped a finger inside of her. Had she not been so surprised she would have gasped—instead she sucked in a shuddering breath, her eyes going wide.

When his finger didn’t retreat, she arched up into his hand. Apparently he had other things in mind; he was still hard against her leg, but he continued to press inside of her, his palm digging into the swell of her ass. 

“Din—” she muffled around his hand, cut short when he thrust another finger inside.

It always took her aback, how strong his hands were. He was all lean muscle, and barely any heavier than her. But his hands were hard and determined, the stroke of his fingers only strengthening with each thrust of his hand.

She tried to reach back for him, and her fingers curled around the fabric of his pant leg. “What about—” She gasped into his palm. “About you—”

The hand by her mouth tightened around her jaw, making her shudder.  _ Keep quiet, _ she reminded herself.

“Just you,” he said breathlessly, but there was steel behind his words. It sent a thrill through her, heat pooling low in her belly that radiated down into her thighs and made her ache with the need for more. 

Her knuckles went white with the grip on the table, her other hand still fisted in his pant leg. He was clearly in a rare, assertive mood, and she was not about to squander that by asking any further questions. She wanted to close her eyes, she wanted to moan and tell him how good his hand felt, she wanted to lean into him and completely abandon whatever had been occupying her thoughts five minutes ago, but she kept her eyes on the door in spite of it. 

His chest heaved with effort against her back as he worked his hand into her. His other fingers swept across her clitoris, a peripheral and passing stimulation that made her arch her hips up to the point of discomfort. She wanted more of him—more of his hands on her, more of his hot breath in her ear. She whimpered into his fingers, trying to find the words to say all of that to him, and felt his teeth dig into the swell of her shoulder. 

“More,” she muffled, and felt herself clench around his fingers, hard, making him groan into her back. 

His other hand squeezed at her mouth to get her attention, and he halted just long enough to speak to her. “Can you—stay quiet?” he asked breathlessly. She nodded into his hand, and it unlatched from her mouth, his arm circling back around her waist to join his other. 

The pads of his fingers found her clitoris, now pressing against it insistently, and she almost immediately broke her vow to stay silent. Her forehead dug into the table and she finally squeezed her eyes shut, focusing solely on his hands. He thrust into her with enough force to rock them both forward, and it took all of her willpower to swallow back the noise she desperately wanted him to hear.

Din was right about one thing—it didn’t take very long. He’d worked her up badly, and in an embarrassingly short amount of time. With nothing else to sink her teeth into, she bit her lip instead, arching up to meet each of the hard strokes of his hand and the insistent, circling pad of his fingers. It made her whole body burn, aching for a release that she could feel was swiftly approaching. Her legs trembled with the effort to remain standing, to press her hips up higher, to keep them both steady as he rocked his hand deep inside her.

“I’m so close already,” she breathed, the grip on his pants threatening to rip the fabric, and felt the groan he swallowed rumble along her back. “Din—”

A tremor worked all the way up her spine, and she couldn’t stop the single, strangled gasp of breath as she shuddered back against him. White hot shocks travelled down her thighs, and in waves she felt herself clench around his fingers, surely to the point of discomfort. Her legs threatened to buckle, but he kept her in place with the arm around her waist, and she arched into the solid press of his back as she worked through her release.

For several moments all she could do was catch her breath. As she came down from the high, she slacked in his grip, letting him do all the work of keeping them standing. When his hands finally retreated, she allowed herself the luxury of a single, soft whimper. His forehead pressed into her back as he tried to get a handle on his own breathing, and Omera let out a breathless, exasperated laugh, opening her eyes to glance back at the curtain. Not that it mattered by this point.

“Welcome… back,” she whispered, swallowing down breath, and he laughed into her neck. He was still breathing harshly, his shirt sticky with sweat, and she could still feel him pressed hard against her leg. 

They untangled long enough for her to stand up and shakily pull her pants back up around her hips. Din hovered close, and she pulled him against her when she sat on the edge of the table. Her hand combed through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead, and he leaned into her, his arms going around her back. 

She let out a huff. Her legs were still trembling, and with a bite of her lip she realised they probably would for the next several minutes. Omera pressed a kiss to his jaw, unable to help the smile that spread across her face. “Where in the world did that come from?” she asked, and he pulled back to look at her.

She watched his throat work as he swallowed. He seemed a little dazed himself. “I don’t know,” he replied, sounding a bit sheepish. “I thought a lot about it on the road back—”

“Oh, you planned this out?” she asked with a grin. It was impossible for him to be any more flushed, so instead his mouth tugged up in a small smile. 

“Sort of,” he said, as if confessing something. “Hadn’t worked out all the details yet.”

She laughed and kissed him again, and with a groan he pressed into her. He was still incredibly worked up, and she was sure the erection straining against his pants was deeply uncomfortable. 

Omera wrapped her arms around his neck, watching him watch her. “What are we gonna do about you?” 

He let out a strangled noise, his face ducking down to press into her shoulder. “I thought your boots would get ruined,” he muffled into her shirt.

She shrugged. “They probably already are. Doesn’t matter,” she added when he stiffened in her arms. “I’m never going to stop you from doing something like that.”

He laughed shakily. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did, very much. You’re getting good.” She pulled his chin up and kissed him, breathing in the familiar smell of his skin. She hummed into his mouth. “Mm. I really did miss you. I felt like a big baby, complaining about only a few days apart.”

He shook his head. “No, it was too long,” he told her, his tone serious again. The distance had clearly been more difficult for him than she’d realised. “I couldn’t wait to get back.”

She was about to reply when she heard someone approach. She could hear Fuzzy babbling and Winta responding in a measured tone, and felt Din freeze in place.

“Do not come in here!” Omera called to the entrance, and heard Winta’s footsteps suddenly halt at the threshold.

Immediately absorbing what her mother had just said, she gave a disgusted scoff. “Seriously? We’ve been back for like fifteen—” Winta interrupted herself with another disgusted noise. “Never mind. Whatever. I was  _ going _ to come in and ask if we were going to start lunch.”

“In a minute,” Omera replied, and heard Winta walk away with an annoyed huff.

They were silent for a moment, and then Din relaxed, letting out a laugh. “I can’t wait for the evening,” he murmured, still watching the door.

Omera kissed his temple. “Me neither.” She could see the taut, heated expression still all over his face, even in profile. “Is that a good estimate?” she asked dryly then, and he turned back to look at her. “A minute?”

He pressed against her and groaned. “I wasn’t kidding,” he told her. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for four days.”

That was all the confirmation she needed. Heat flushed her face in pleasure, but she kept a light expression. “Poor thing.” Omera leaned forward and kissed him again. She’d only intended on a quick peck, but he pulled her in, deepening the kiss and rolling his body into hers. 

“Please,” he whispered then, melting into her, shivering when her hand went to his hip. They were back in familiar territory now, and he was clearly aching for it.

“Switch positions with me,” she whispered into his mouth, and felt him shudder at her words. “And keep quiet.”


End file.
